Neutral Milk Hotel

The Best Concerts of 2014

We do things a little differently around here when it comes to the traditional lists like “Best Albums of the Year”, since we like to take the extra time to see if we may have missed anything.  But we admit we can’t resist the opportunity to look back on other highlights of the year, so it’s the perfect time to create an arbitrary ranking of the best concerts we saw this year. 

Over the course of 2014 we saw a grand total of 32 different concerts (including two separate festivals), giving us close to an average of three different shows a month to see national touring acts.  Considering that we had to travel at least an hour to and from all but one of these shows, allow us to shed our modesty for a second and say that this was quite the accomplishment.  Luckily, not a single concert could be even remotely considered a dud, so it makes narrowing down the list to just ten shows that much harder.  That said, we think that these shows are worthy of special recognition, and we invite you to use the tags to read up on our reviews for each performance.

Cloud Nothings put on a great show, but will have to settle for just outside the top ten.

Cloud Nothings put on a great show, but will have to settle for a spot just outside the top ten.

Honorable Mention for The Thermals playing a show in Salem and making the town seem like a real cool place for once.

10. The Men, live at Dante’s

9. Hamilton Leithauser, live at the Doug Fir

8. The National, live at the Les Schwab Amphitheater

7. Modest Mouse, headlining Project Pabst

6. TV on the Radio, live at the Crystal Ballroom

5. Queens of the Stone Age, live at the Keller Auditorium

4. Beck, live at Edgefield

3. Neutral Milk Hotel, live at the Crystal Ballroom

2. Death From Above 1979, live at the Crystal Ballroom

1. Slowdive, live at the Crystal Ballroom.

It’s no surprise that the top of the list is loaded with reunions, though the exact order goes against what probably would have been predicted at the beginning of the year; the biggest shock remains that shows at the Crystal Ballroom ended up being the venue to house the best shows, though that speaks to the ability of each of those groups to overcome any obstacles that tricky room could toss their way.

Let’s hope that any shows we see in the next year live up to the unbelievable standard that this past year has set!

Catching Up On The Week (Dec. 19 Edition)

Some #longreads for your weekend as you mourn the end of the greatest television show of all-time

The music world is still buzzing about the surprise release of D’Angelo’s Black Messiah, with critics greeting it with universal acclaim.  We’re certain that you can find a multitude of thinkpieces on the album from everyone and their cousin on the web, but this analysis from Complex is probably the best you’ll find.

Just how big was that surprise release from D’Angelo?  Big enough that it pushed aside the news that Modest Mouse will finally release a follow-up to We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank as their new album Strangers to Ourselves is set to be released on March 3 of next year.  Meanwhile, keep their new single “Lampshades on Fire” playing on repeat, at least through this weekend.

This article was originally published in January, but we didn’t come across it until this week, so it’s new for us: Buzzfeed explains how the punk band Crass fooled MI6 and other intelligence agencies into thinking there was a Soviet disinformation campaign, all with a crappily-produced prank tape.

It’s the weekend–do you need any other excuse to read an analysis of Billy Joel’s ridiculous hit “We Didn’t Start the Fire”?

And finally, we like millions of others are mourning the end of The Colbert Report, though we’re hopeful that Stephen Colbert will do a terrific job of taking over The Late Show.  Like many, we were impressed by the turnout of former guests that appeared for the final sing-along, but we also were delighted to hear that as the credits rolled for a final time that Colbert had selected our personal pick for greatest song of all-time, Neutral Milk Hotel’s “Holland, 1945”, to be the musical accompaniment.  It turns out that Stephen’s selection of the song was not just a result of his good taste, but the result of a personal connection to the song that is quite touching.  Just don’t ruin the moment by clicking through the links to see what the rest of Slate had to think about music this past year.

Enough With the Fucking Arcade Fire, Already

One of our primary goals here at Rust Is Just Right is to provide an alternative to a lot of the dismissive snark that is the hallmark of a lot of contemporary music criticism these days.  We believe that in a world that’s overflowing with great music, it’s better to analyze and promote what’s worth listening to instead of attempting to tear down what’s already popular.  Sure, it’s easy to succumb to the temptation of writing something bitingly clever about a band that we don’t like, but it’s not really going to accomplish all that much.  Besides, it’s not our place to decry other people’s tastes.  If you enjoy something, we’re in no place to tell you why you’re wrong–life is simply too short and awful to take away any such joy like that.

Given those parameters, this editorial may seem to run counter to that mission.  Yes, we are going to slag on Arcade Fire, but that’s not the main purpose of this piece.  No, our qualms are with the breathless adulation and coverage that the band receives on an infuriatingly and consistent basis, and how Arcade Fire has somehow in the past decade became shorthand for what’s “good” in “indie rock”.  This unabashed love of the band has frustratingly led to the ridiculous need that many publications and writers to shoehorn a mention of “Arcade Fire” in pieces that are completely irrelevant to the group.

First, we’ll lay all our cards on the table and explain why we don’t like the band in the first place.  Well…Eels wrote a superior album about coping with the deaths of close family members, Pavement did a much better job of writing seemingly-tuneless melodies, and Godspeed You! Black Emperor along with Broken Social Scene did a far better job of simply being a collective of Canadian musicians.  Hell, even the cover of Funeral is infuriating, since it comes off as a rip-off of the art associated with Neutral Milk Hotel’s In the Aeroplane Over the Sea–shit, it even has the same goddamn font that NMH used.  The art just screams “WE REALLY LIKE NEUTRAL MILK HOTEL AND WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT WE’RE COOL LIKE THAT!”  If you want more substantial criticism (beyond this standard rock-critic trope of accusing a group of being derivative of all these other influences), it boils down to the fact that their music is boring, they can’t sing, and have never written an insightful lyric.  They wrote a two-chord song, and they couldn’t figure out how to do it in a key that was in the range of their singer–LCD Soundsystem managed to do that, and came up with one of the greatest songs of the decade despite James Murphy’s limited vocal abilities.  This is a band that ruins their one decent moment, the song “Wake Up”, with an abrupt and inexplicable shift into fucking “Walking On Sunshine”.

Perhaps my frustration with the band can best be explained by their presence in the film “Her”.  It’s an absolutely amazing film and further cements in my mind that Spike Jonze is a true genius, and I was glad that he won an Oscar for his work.  However, I had significant issues with the score.  There was one key scene where the OS “Samantha” composes her own music, and we in the audience here it played back.  It’s twinkly piano music that sounds pleasant on the surface, even if it has no real melodic ideas, and sounds like something an entity with limited knowledge of songwriting would create.  Which seems to fit the idea of a computer attempting a human behavior and approximating that behavior except…it was frustratingly obvious that the piano was played by a human, since the rhythms were wildly imprecise and fingers were lingering too long on certain notes and making the notes stick together and therefore ruining the illusion.  That’s Arcade Fire in a nutshell: humans attempting to mimic machines which are trying to pass off as humans, and failing miserably.

For the most part, it hasn’t been an issue and aside from their presence in an otherwise magnificent film, I’ve been able to avoid Arcade Fire rather easily.  It doesn’t take much to avoid clicking links like “Watch Arcade Fire’s 25 Best ‘Reflektor’ Tour Cover Songs”, even if those links appear everywhere and on multiple sites.  No, the true problem is when the band makes a random appearance in an article that has absolutely nothing to do with them, as illustrated in this review.  Pitchfork’s review of M83’s re-release of their first three albums marked the moment when we officially reached Peak Music Critic Insufferability, as the reviewer attempted to describe M83’s style with this statement: “Arcade Fire are perhaps a better touchpoint for their overall approach: lead with emotions telegraphed big and wide enough to fill a stadium, and let the guitars and synthesizers fall into place around them.”

Now, let that sink in for a second.  Not only is it ridiculous to compare the music of the two bands (since no one who has ever listened to both bands would find a connection beyond “these are two acts that create sounds”–just listen to that video above and explain how it resembles Arcade Fire in any fashion), note that the connection between the two seems to be…that the two groups are both emotive.  This assertion that somehow Arcade Fire was the first group to emphasize emotion in some capacity in their music is completely insane (especially in an era where “emo” was huge) and demonstrates the myopia that afflicts a generation of rock critics in which in order to convey that a musician is “serious” that it must be compared to this one band.  To further underscore how clumsily the point is made in the review, note that the comparison to Arcade Fire is immediately dropped and no further mention is made in the rest of the review.

However, the most ridiculous aspect of the comparison is just simple chronology.  M83’s first two albums were released before Funeral, while their third was released a couple of months after.  Unless those crazy Canadians can bend the rules of time and space, it can be definitively stated that they had absolutely no effect on the French electronic duo.  If you’re dead-set on making some sort of comparison, perhaps another article can be written about how M83 influenced Arcade Fire, but why bother.  I mean, this is a great song that displays subtlety and mastery of melody–something that is difficult to find in an Arcade Fire song.

That’s not the only irrelevant mention of Arcade Fire I encountered this month–in a review of Death From Above 1979’s new album, I learned that apparently we started measuring time in terms of Arcade Fire album releases in the past decade.  To be fair, that isn’t the worst problem with that ridiculous review (which includes gems like finding out that Wolfmother was apparently a dance-punk band), but it once again points to the annoying habit that many rock critics employ of needlessly dropping references to Arcade Fire.  DFA1979 are as bad a comparison as M83 in terms of music, but why the hell should that matter?

These are all symptoms of the general problem of giving Arcade Fire way too much credit than they deserve.  In this feature, we see the band get praise for…incorporating “whoas” in a song, as if having an instrumental swell accompanied by a wordless chorus was a fucking revolutionary act (just one year later, we would see a much better example of this technique from My Morning Jacket).  Arcade Fire somehow also gets credit for “having an auxiliary floor-tom for intermittent bashing” when Radiohead had a hit the previous year doing exactly that (and to great effect).  Even the most diehard Arcade Fire fan has to admit that Radiohead is a much more influential band.  Besides, has this been a real trend?  Sure, White Rabbits used it to great effect on “Percussion Gun” and it helped get people to listen to their fantastic album It’s Frightening, but for fuck’s sake, it isn’t worth tricking me into clicking a link for a goddamn Imagine Dragons video.  More than anything, it just seemed like an excuse for this poor excuse for a Canadian collective to employ extra people to play random percussion, seemingly ripping off Slipknot of all bands (hey, I knew I forgot another random influence of Arcade Fire).

Arcade Fire fans, I mean you no harm.  But please, if you end up working as music critics, please refrain from constantly mentioning your favorite band.  It reflects poorly on all of us.

Unlikely Heroes: The Legacy of Neutral Milk Hotel (Pts. 2 & 3)

Neutral Milk Hotel’s reputation was built on the strength of its magnum opus In the Aeroplane Over the Sea.  What is it about this album that it has inspired rabid devotees ready to proselytize about its brilliance at the drop of a hat?  In this next part, we will closely examine the particular genius of Aeroplane and why it is worthy of such deference.

It is difficult to enjoy In the Aeroplane Over the Sea on the first listen; to borrow a term from economics, appreciation has “a high barrier to entry”.  The bizarrely-stocked orchestra of cheap instruments, the ramshackle production combined with lo-fi recording touches, and Jeff Mangum’s raw and unique voice (some kind people may call it “untrained” to be charitable) all become qualities that you come to love, but it takes some time before this occurs.  It can be tough to overcome those initial impressions, and that’s how you end up with reactions like this Rolling Stone review (I don’t know if there’s a more “Rolling Stone” review than this, which when not engaged in strained allusions (Tusk and the MacArthur awards committee both get a mention) manages to do everything it can to show that the reviewer missed the point entirely (“burying the hard gem of songcraft under layers of bizarreness”; “most of the music is scant and drab, with flat-footed rhythms and chord changes strictly out of the beginner’s folk songbook”), all capped with a generic three-star rating).

The chord changes that the Rolling Stone reviewer derides are actually one of the quiet strengths of the album.  Most of the songs only rely on three or four basic chords, all of which should be familiar to the average listener’s ear.  The effect is that it grounds the songs into something that is immediately identifiable to the listener, and allows one to appreciate the more peculiar touches without allowing one’s attention to completely drift away.  The title track is a perfect example of this: it’s built on a common progression, G – E minor – C – D, or as I like to call it the “Last Kiss” progression (the I, vi (relative minor), IV, V chords for those inclined), over which Mangum sings a sweet and pleasant melody, and gradually more and more instruments are layered to provide distinctive accents, like the various horns and especially the eerie singing saw.  Mangum never changes the chords but in the bridge he makes a slight adjustment in their order, beginning each phrase with the E minor chord instead, which changes the tone of the entire section to something darker.  These little touches help bring out certain lines in the lyrics; a perfect example is how the singing saw helps embellish the line “how the notes all bend and reach above the trees”, providing an aural representation of the image depicted in the lyrics.

The brilliant “Holland, 1945” is another excellent example.  It’s even simpler than “Aeroplane” in that it uses only three chords: C, G, and D, the most basic chords in all contemporary music.  In fact, most of the time it switches only between C and G, with the D thrown in occasionally to provide the bridge between those two endpoints.  The simple structure also allows the song to retain the same amount of power when it’s just Mangum and his guitar.  That said, there are few things that equal the magnificence of this song when it’s the full band playing–the fuzz bass that gives the low end that buzzed edge, those horn lines which provide glimpses of triumph, and that excellent driving percussion that is always on the threat of falling apart but blisters through nonetheless.  Just listen to those crisp snare rolls and how they push the song into the next line, or those kick drum hits that accent the walking bassline in the coda.

It’s almost amazing that I’ve spent this many words analyzing the album with only passing references to the lyrics, because the story behind the words is often what is most familiar to those with even a passing knowledge of the band (“Oh, they’re the guys with the ‘Anne Frank’ album, right?”).  The discussion of the mythology of Aeroplane is certainly a factor that draws in many fans, and Mangum’s lyrics definitely invite further scrutiny.  Much of the album was indeed inspired by Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl, and she is referenced in many songs throughout the album (the bulk of her appearances is in the middle of the album, with “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea”, “Holland, 1945”, “Oh, Comely” and “Ghost” as significant examples).  However, it needs to be seen through the eyes of Mangum’s intense reaction to her ordeal and not just a recounting of her story.  Mangum uses several other characters on the album, as he weaves scenes of an impoverished modern family with fantastical characters and the ghost of Anne Frank, all as attempts to process all the terrible things that happen and how we are often powerless to stop them.  Individual lines alternate between sweet, childish simplicity  and bizarre horror, all processed through a particular straightforward innocence.

It is an extremely affecting and compelling work underscored by Mangum’s raw and impassioned vocal performance.  What initially comes off as harsh at worst and amateurish at best becomes warm and comforting after repeated listens.  You can feel each and every sentiment that Mangum goes through as he journeys through the emotional roller coaster of an album; the album veers from the affectionate “The Earth looks better from a star that’s right above from where you are” to the stark “I know they buried her body with others, her sister and mother and 500 families…I wish I could save her in some sort of time machine” to the redemptive “And when her spirit left her body, how it split the sun; I know that she will live forever, all goes on and on and on.”  It’s the reason why one of the most powerful experiences in my life was when I listened to this album and then visited the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam.

However, it’s not just the brilliance of the album itself that has inspired such fanatical devotion, but the mystery surrounding it.  While it’s easy to pick up on the general story behind the songs, the often cryptic lyrics  filled with fantastic and grotesque imagery have inspired wild theories and intense discussion.  And fans were left to argue their meaning among themselves, because Jeff Mangum rarely spoke about the album and conducted very few interviews once it was released.  Actually, I may be understating Mangum’s reluctance a little bit, as his silence led to stories of him becoming a recluse in the face of the overwhelming reaction to the album, so much so that Slate published an article in 2008 that dubbed Mangum “The Salinger of Indie Rock”.  The continued silence of Mangum over the years fed a cycle that increased the hysteria behind the album, and as nature abhors a vacuum, people rushed in to fill the gaps and speculate on the meaning of what seemed to be the last musical release of an eccentric genius.  With nothing to compare it to, the stature of the album was destined to grow, a pattern we’ve seen before (My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless is an excellent example of this phenomenon).

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Which was why it was such a surprise when Jeff Mangum eventually began his return to the spotlight a couple of years ago with a scattering of solo appearances, and why segments of the internet exploded in euphoria.  Finally, we would be able to hear from the man himself!

A triumphant return.

A triumphant return.

In the years leading up to his return, fans had to make do with scattered bootlegs and a tantalizing glimpse of the early form of Aeroplane-era songs with Live at Jittery Joe’s, a recording of Jeff performing solo before friends and an otherwise indifferent audience in a tiny club in Athens, Georgia between On Avery Island and Aeroplane.  It was remarkable to hear Mangum interact with the audience and give brief explanations and insights into his songs, and the casual nature of the set helped undercut some of the self-serious reverence that some fans had developed over the years.  This was music made by an actual human, not some ethereal muse or other mystical creature.

Jittery Joe’s also provided a clue as to how some of those early return shows would sound like, as Mangum seemed weary of returning the band as a whole.  Instead, he gradually introduced other band members in various performances and only for certain songs, generally performing by himself just with a couple of acoustic guitars.  I had the great fortune of seeing Mangum on these early tours twice, and it was a concert experience that few could possibly match.  It was amazing to watch a crowd that over years and years had connected on a deep emotional level with an artist that they had no idea they would ever have the chance to see, finally confronted with the opportunity to witness the source of their passion in person.  It was a mixture of joy and adoration, and took on the tone of an almost-religious revival.  I can say with some authority that the only person that could get a bunch of young Portland hipsters to yell “I love you, Jesus Christ” would be Jeff Mangum.

But still, there was something missing from these performances.  Jeff and his guitar may have been the backbone of each of these songs, but we had come to adore all the extra flourishes over the years–the thrashing drums, the buzzed bass, the kitchen-sink orchestra, et al.  So we were welcome to the new experience of seeing “Neutral Milk Hotel” as a whole perform these songs that we had come to know by heart.

Fellow Elephant 6 comrades The Minders and Elf Power were the opening bands, and they did a good job of keeping the energy of the crowd up.  We got an unexpected highlight when Elf Power covered the Olivia Tremor Control’s “Jumping Fences” in memory of Bill Doss, who had tragically died two years ago.  It was a reverent take of a brilliant song whose greatness was somewhat unappreciated by most of the crowd, who apparently had not delved into the oeuvre of the other band in the collective that often matched the brilliance of Neutral Milk Hotel.  One of the greatest concert experiences I ever had was seeing the Olivia Tremor Control perform a raucous set in a tiny Portland bar during Music Fest Northwest with a bunch of their friends from Elephant 6, and I wished that the other people in the crowd had been there so they could have been as excited as I was for this cover.

After Elf Power, the audience grew impatient as the moment that many had spent at least a decade to see was growing closer, but soon their fears were allayed as a lone bearded figure climbed up onto the stage.  Jeff opened the show with a stirring solo version of “Two-Headed Boy”, buoyed by a raucous crowd singing along.  And in a manner that perfectly matched the performance on the album, the rest of the band gradually made their way in a procession to the stage as they played the instrumental segue “The Fool”, and we could finally say that we had lived to see the return of Neutral Milk Hotel.  When the band launched into “Holland, 1945”, I could barely contain myself, and I shouted the lyrics along with the band as they played my favorite song of all-time.  It was an unbelievable moment, made better by the fact that you could see the joy of the band as well.

In those earlier Jeff solo shows, there was always a delicate tension between performer and audience, as the crowd was careful not to disturb a potentially emotionally fragile performer.  There was a strange dichotomy at work, as there was a connection between Jeff and the crowd because of the music, but also a distance between the two, as the crowd didn’t want to cross any imaginary line.  With this in the back of my head, I was therefore interested to see how Mangum would react with the rest of his band during the show.  Instead of being withdrawn and remote, Jeff seemed most joyous when he was playing along with his band.  He was still somewhat on an island off to the far right of the stage, and the nature of the songs meant that often it was him by himself facing the crowd, but the sense was not of “Jeff Mangum & Some Guys” but more of a cohesive unit called “Neutral Milk Hotel”.

The band had a varied set, shifting between songs from throughout their career.  There were of course several songs from Aeroplane, but they also hit highlights from their debut like “Gardenhead-Leave Me Alone” and “Song Against Sex”, as well as tossing in rarities like the early single “Everything Is” as well as “Ferris Wheel on Fire”.  The band saved the best for last, as they ended the show with an encore of the ending trio of songs from Aeroplane.  There’s “Ghost”, which manages to create this unbelievable tension as instruments pile on top of each other while the upbeat is hammered incessantly, while at the same time there is some relief because we have the potential relief of Anna’s ghost being free to escape.  Then there is the instrumental segue “Untitled”, which has the aura of a carnival celebration and where the band let loose, led by unusual instruments like the zanzithophone, which handles the main melody.  One of the indelible memories I will have of the show will be of Jeff jumping around with his acoustic guitar as this joyous circus performed along with him.  “Two-Headed Boy Pt. 2” then closes out this set, as we revisit characters from throughout the story as gradually everything fades away, and we’re left with Jeff alone with his guitar.  However, he doesn’t leave as he does at the end of the album; instead, Jeff has one more sing-along for the audience, and the crowd joins in on the fan-favorite “Engine” to close out the show.  It was the perfect ending to a memorable show, and we exited into the night to the sounds of “Pink Moon” filtering through the Crystal Ballroom sound system.  That’s about as good as a Sunday night gets.

Unlikely Heroes: The Legacy of Neutral Milk Hotel (Pt. 1)

I remember a recent conversation where an acquaintance asked a question along the lines of “How did Neutral Milk Hotel become so popular?” For the vast majority of the American public, this would seem to be a preposterous question, especially for a group that has yet to sell even a gold record; furthermore, I’d imagine that most of these people would be clueless as to how those three words could possibly fit together.*  However, depending on the community, this bewilderment is understandable.  Within the right group of people, Neutral Milk Hotel, and especially their masterpiece In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, have taken on an almost hagiographic glow, and both now exist as shorthand for raw, cathartic genius and simple, pure brilliance.**  Not bad for a few guys from a small town in Louisiana.

One of the signs that you know you're in my office.

One of the signs that you know you’re in my office.

I’m going to twist the original question a little bit, and rephrase it as “How did Neutral Milk Hotel reach this level of acclaim (with the corollary ‘Is it deserved?’ answered with a quick and resounding ‘Yes.’)?”  Looking back to their origins, there would be few clues as to how these guys would become the most influential voices in the independent music scene of the last two decades.  As the story has been recounted before, it dates back to the early days of childhood friendship in Ruston, Louisiana, the home of Louisiana Tech.  It began with the sons of a couple of professors bonding over their love of strange and exotic music, and together they navigated following their cultural ambitions with the realities of small town life.  Sharing records eventually led to experimentation and making recordings themselves, and it was from those humble beginnings that the Elephant 6 collective was born.

Those childhood friends were Robert Schneider, Bill Doss, William Cullen Hart, and Jeff Mangum, and their bands and their subsequent offshoots would create some of the greatest music of the 90’s.  The Apples in Stereo, The Olivia Tremor Control, and Neutral Milk Hotel all trace their origins to those days in Ruston, and they in turn would inspire and work with several other bands like Beulah, Elf Power, and of Montreal that would shape the sound of independent music from the mid-90’s to today.  But while I feel this history lesson is beginning to drag us away from the question at hand, it does provide the proper context to understand Neutral Milk Hotel.  It was within that setting that a culture of sharing and experimentation developed, where bands and genres blended as necessary, all in the name of making beautiful and heartfelt music.  It was from these humble beginnings where you can also hear the origins of the Elephant 6 aesthetic.  The sincere belief that merely lacking the trappings of an expensive studio is not a good enough excuse to prevent musicians from emulating the psychedelic sounds of the Beach Boys and the Beatles, when all you need is a bedroom, a tape recorder, and a bunch of friends to help you.

The story of Elephant 6 is significant, but the particular importance of Neutral Milk Hotel still needs to be explored.  One can find momentary glimpses of future genius in their debut album, On Avery Island: songs like “Gardenhead”, “Song Against Sex”, and “Naomi” are great examples of the warped take on folk music that would be the hallmark of the band’s sound.  In a way it captured the old-time spirit of folk music, which wasn’t the sixties stereotype of the singer/guitarist in a cafe, but friends gathered together playing whatever instruments were handy.  This atmosphere was enhanced by the lo-fi recording techniques and production, which emphasized the do-it-yourself spirit of the group.  And on top of all this were Jeff Mangum’s cryptic and often bizarre lyrics, which draw your attention and invite endless speculation.  However, there was little that would prepare fans to the great leap forward that would come next from the band.

Next door to the Anne Frank House.

Next door to the Anne Frank House.

I still remember my first introduction to the band, back during my freshman year of college.  I was looking at the away messages that my friends would post on AOL Instant Messenger, and one of them had posted a few lyrics from the song “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea” and had listed the name “Neutral Milk Hotel” underneath.  I found the words particularly moving, which led to further research to learn more about these guys.  After reading a few reviews filled with lavish praise, I immediately used the intra-college network to download the album, since we had long passed the halcyon days of Napster (quick aside that attempts to justify my actions: this was before the days of YouTube and other streaming possibilities; the nearest record store was two towns over and I lacked a car; and I have a strong habit of purchasing what I like after the test preview download as soon as I can).

Those unmistakable first acoustic guitar strums of “The King of Carrot Flowers, Pt. 1” soon were filtering out through my computer speakers, and I was subtly intrigued.  It was a catchy little progression, with a playfulness that was reminiscent of old nursery rhymes.  And then that distinctive and idiosyncratic voice came in, and I was momentarily taken aback.  At this point, I had limited experience with such an unconventional vocal style, where emotion and passion took priority over a pleasing tone or technical accuracy.  So I was put back on my heels a little bit at this point, and I was still listening to the first song at this point.  There’s a slow transition into “The King of Carrot Flowers, Pts. 2 & 3” as a sustained organ chord bridges the two songs, followed by a staccato banjo arpeggio, and then…

“I-I-I LOVE YOU JEEE-SUS CHRIIIIIIIIIST! JEEESUS CHRIST I LOOOOO-O-VE YOOOOOOOOU!”

At that moment, my first thought is “what the hell have I just gotten myself into?”  And when I played the album for the first time for each of my friends, that was the exact point where they would produce an identical reaction.  I have expressed a similar philosophy as Hank Hill when it comes to Christian Rock, and so this moment was quite jarring: the combination of the raw emotion and the nakedness of the proclamation itself were a bit much to take on first listen.  But then that triumphant trumpet kicks in, the drums begin to ramp up, and then the song morphs into the most punk rock folk song I had ever heard in my life.  My initial concerns were slowly fading away.

It was then that the title track came on, and my conversion was soon complete.  It’s a gorgeous ballad, filled with gorgeous unique touches, like the eerily beautiful singing saw that wavers in and out throughout the song.  Yet it was the lyrics that had slowly captured my attention, language filled with gorgeous imagery and a sentiment of sweetly innocent longing, an emotion that Mangum’s voice wonderfully captured.  And by the time I heard the last verse, I had reached an epiphany.

“What a beautiful face, I have found in this place that is circling all around the sun; and when we meet on a cloud, I’ll be laughing out loud, I’ll be laughing with everyone I see.  Can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all.”

That last line continues to stick with me to this day; I have never heard a more perfect summation of the absurdity and majesty of existence, and the mere acknowledgement of this fact proves the sentiment in and of itself.  It’s in moments like that instant connection with that particular lyric that reveal how a band can inspire such intense devotion.

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To be continued in Pts. 2 & 3

* The best explanation that I remember reading of the band name was that “milk hotels” were a specific lodging that I believe sprang up during the time of the Gold Rush, and they were not stocked with alcohol.  “Neutral” didn’t describe the non-leanings of the hotel, but rather was the name of a town.  My search skills are failing at the moment, but I will edit this when I find more information.

** It can also exist as shorthand for people trying to make a quick joke about hipsters or as a comment on seemingly pretentious and inscrutable music, but fuck those guys.

Note: The book from the 33 1/3 series on In the Aeroplane Over the Sea written by Kim Cooper was an invaluable resource in helping to flesh out some of the backstory of the Elephant 6 Collective, and I highly recommend picking up a copy if you want more information.

Neutral Milk Hotel & Catching Up On The Week (Feb. 7 Edition)

A few quick links you may have missed this week and worthy of your time this weekend

I am of the generation that grew up in the wake of In The Aeroplane Over The Sea—not in the era from when the album was first released, but in the ensuing years where it became totem of alternative/indie rock culture.  Like many, I became obsessed with the album and the story of Jeff Mangum, the reclusive genius who became the J.D. Salinger of rock.  I was ecstatic when Jeff Mangum returned to the stage, and witnessed two amazing performances in Portland and Eugene (I remarked at the time that only Jeff Mangum could get a Portland crowd to scream “I love you, Jesus Christ!”).  But even there was something that was missing from those performances, and that was the rickety junkyard orchestra quality of the album itself, provided by a full backing band.  “Holland, 1945” will always be one of the greatest songs ever written, regardless of how it’s performed, but it loses something without those horns and that fuzz bass and those barely-restrained chaotic drums.  So even though I had the good fortune to see those previous two performances, I still jumped at the opportunity to see Neutral Milk Hotel as a whole for the reunion tour.

There are those that express some reservations to this.  Steven Hyden of Grantland wrote about his reaction to the return of Mangum and Neutral Milk Hotel, and he took a much more pessimistic stance.  I do agree to some extent the cult-like devotion of some fans is a turn-off (while I have listened to the album over a hundred times, I haven’t memorized the entire lyric sheet as it seems most audiences have), but I wouldn’t go so far as to say as a result that I like the album “less”.  And personally I think it’s unfair to call out any band for their possible motivations for reuniting, even if it’s to say that you don’t care that their intentions may be less than noble.  I can see points being made about post-boomer generations now realizing how much fun it can be to indulge in nostalgia, this overlooks the fact that there were younger generations who never got a chance to experience things firsthand, so why piss on their opportunity to do so?  I didn’t get a chance to see Dinosaur Jr. the first time around, but I’m sure as shit enjoying their late-period renaissance; Pavement was before my time, but seeing their reunion in Central Park was one of the greatest live performances I’ve ever seen.

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Continuing our previous coverage of the 20th anniversary of Dookie, Consequence of Sound asked various writers and musicians about their memories of the album.  What struck me is how many were my age at the time (around 9 years old), and led me to wonder whether any bands that are currently popular with 9 year olds will have any critical respect twenty years later.  I’m going to say probably not.

Here’s an interesting article that details how useless it can be to talk about a musician’s social media presence.  The number of followers and likes are generally useless figures, and discussion of those immaterial numbers take away from any discussion of the music itself.  However, there’s a twist in this story of how exactly an artist gained all those Twitter followers.

One of my favorite weekends of the year is NBA All-Star Weekend, and this year will be especially great because I’ll be cheering for two Blazers.  Kudos to LaMarcus Aldridge and Damian Lillard, the latter of whom will be the first player to participate in five events during the weekend.  What does this news have to do with music?  Just the fact that they’ve got an outstanding musical lineup for the weekend, with Kendrick Lamar performing before the Dunk Contest, Pharrell in the pre-game ceremony, and Janelle Monáe performing with Trombone Shorty, Dr. John, and Earth, Wind & Fire at half-time.  That’s probably the best lineup that I remember for the event, if only for the fact that Phillip Phillips is not involved.

And finally, as the Winter Olympics begin, enjoy this video of a Russian Police Choir performing “Get Lucky” as a part of the Opening Ceremonies.  I didn’t see much of the festivities, but I’m pretty sure this has to be one of the top highlights.